


You are so charming

by MsrTenOverSix



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Casual Sex, Light Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-14
Updated: 2019-04-14
Packaged: 2020-01-13 10:05:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18466738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MsrTenOverSix/pseuds/MsrTenOverSix
Summary: He is surprisingly tolerant of many things, and that includes being the butt of a joke.





	You are so charming

**Author's Note:**

> Don't mind this. Just a quick thing I wanted to try.

“Any plans for the holiday?”

It’s just idle prattle; words to proceed the flare of light whisking to brilliant life before his eyes and dying just as quickly. Moments later the nicotine saturates his lungs, and the satisfaction is immediate; some clichés cannot be overstepped.  Sitting at the edge of the bed, he tosses the lighter behind him, before resting his weight back on his knees. His feet are firm against the floor as he smokes.

His back is to Arthur, but that speaks more to their ease around each other than to any type of distance, or so he likes to think.

“Here’s as good a place as any,” The other man gives a short shrug, half-assed and barely felt around the rumpled sheets. He’s lounging, as careless as he’s ever capable of being.  

It’s been awhile since they last crossed paths, and perhaps that is why it takes him a moment to remember that – yes – for Arthur, places really are as good as plans. It was absentminded of him, and a little stupid, to have been thinking in terms like ‘with who?’

Something odd flares up in him then, but he douses it in another drag from the cigarette, presses it loose against his lips, lets it curl acidic on his tongue. He already knew this, but for some reason the knowledge sits awkward in his mind. It’s the season, maybe. Sentimentality. He inhales another cloud, hoping to dispel the feeling; but as soon as he’s exhaled the words slip out, unheeded and dumb.

“Meeting up with anybody?”  Even as the words are said he can practically feel the side eye this gets him; knows immediately that the question came out too genuine, and that from him, at least to Arthur’s understanding, this can only be some sort of pointed jibe.

“Not planning on it.” Arthur’s tone is light, breezy as he searches for the insult. He’s telling the truth, Eames knows, because Arthur lies startlingly little for their chosen line of work. While most of those in dreamshare have something or other they’d die to keep secret, Eames knows Arthur has nothing like that. No family, no pets, no friends, or even landlords; no one close enough to notice his odd habits or whether he finds his way home safely each night.

It’s not a coincidence; it’s how he got selected for this work in the first place. Young, cocky, and poor as shit, Arthur had been as alone as any American child could be. He had also been brilliant, maybe too under-socialized to be tactful, but sharp and insightful and far too desperate to turn down a bad deal when offered. So he’d been hand selected; not like Eames, who had to seek this out, who had to cut his teeth on rumors and crazed whispers just to hunt this down.

“No friends here, then?” God, why is he still talking? He’s growing soft with age, or brain damage from too many trips south of reality. Why else would he talk about something as inane as someone’s plans for vacation? Any day now, he’ll start asking people about the weather with genuine interest. He finally turns to watch over his shoulder, to where Arthur is thumbing through his phone. Arthur notices his attention, gives him a small smile, not making eye contact.

“C’mon Eames, I don’t have friends, you know that.” It’s bone dry, self-depreciating, and tinged with humor.

Arthur is fine with this – Eames, for today, is not. He remembers the first time he’d worked with Arthur; the earnest vexation that came with collaborating with someone so polished and structured. It took a few jobs more to realize that condescension was just Arthur’s default manner, that he treated everyone with a certain level of mistrust. This was before he’d known Arthur to have been a homeless teen, an abused child, an isolated individual.

Despite that, Arthur can be extremely likable. He can make friends with a smile and a handshake, can charm an acquaintance or group whenever he’s out on the town or at a beach. But just as easily as he can make friends, Arthur has no idea how to keep them. Likely, he doesn’t even know that keeping is an option. Certainly, Eames has never made a point of telling Arthur he was anything but immensely unlikeable. And certainly, many coworkers agreed with this assessment, despite their eagerness to work with Arthur. Because Arthur was particular, did not slack off, and was way too good at keeping his team members alive. He was a pain in the ass on a good day, and while his colleagues could appreciate that effort when the job was done and the money was split, no one would ever pretend to be happy to see him.

That realization is some sort of a bitter taste, but Eames blames the cigarette, tells himself that’s why he quit. He kills it on the night table, leaves the smoldering carcass on the polished wood. He clears his throat.

“Been in touch with Cobb lately?” Arthur is still for a moment, reading the room, clearly deliberating Eames words before reaching a conclusion. He moves, slow and unhurried and shameless, and begins to pull his clothes from the floor. Eames wants to huff, to roll his eyes or sigh, because he hadn’t mean it as some sort of cue, hadn’t meant to imply that Arthur had overstayed his welcome. But it’s not like he can admit that out loud.

“Of course not.” There’s a furrow to his brow, a weird look washing over his features like watercolor. Eames realizes that he might have insulted him, to even suggest that Arthur would try to reach out to the man that had been his closest friend for over a decade. All because Dom had run back to his children without even once looking back. Eames doesn’t even bother to look away as Arthur gets dressed; Arthur is used to him, after all, won’t find this odd. Won’t notice that Eames thinks he might be a bit paler now, a bit thinner, if Eames’ mind isn’t playing tricks on him.

When Arthur stands, fully dressed and with his meager bag of possessions in tow, he hesitates at the door.

“Merry Christmas. Enjoy the family.” The words are stilted and a little awkward; Arthur out of his element, not sure if he’s allowed to wish Eames well. And Eames is at a loss here, because he can’t exactly say ‘You too’ like usual, not this time, when he knows exactly how meaningless the platitude is.

“Arthur,” and the man at the door freezes now, ready to leave and now off-guard, because no one says his name after they’ve gotten what they’ve wanted from him.  

“…Eames.” Arthur responds, finally, jokingly, waiting for the punchline.

“You’re alright, yeah?”

And Arthur frowns, subtly now, because he is surprisingly tolerant of many things, and that includes being the butt of a joke. Eames has helped him cultivate this skill through many years with all-too-often, mean-spirited jesting. 

But now he doesn't get the joke, and that grates on him. But one thing is certain: if Eames is still talking to him, it’s only because he’s overstayed his welcome. So at least he knows what to do to rectify this problem.

“Of course.”

And the door closes behind him.

**Author's Note:**

> Oh Eames, don't be so melodramatic. Arthur wouldn't appreciate it. In fact, probably no one does. Stop brooding. 
> 
> In all seriousness, this was just me trying to write a story where one character is analyzing another. Don't take all of Eames' thoughts for truths. Not to say that they're all lies, but it's always dangerous to trust a one-sided story.
> 
> Please review. I always appreciate feedback!


End file.
